And I Thought I Was STRAIGHT?!

Look at me in my turtleneck. No WONDER I never got laid!! God what a joke. Clearly I am now and have always been insane. And obviously gay.

Anyway, I got this picture from my Aunt, who I told y'all about in June. As she had described, she put together a tribute DVD to her brother Marduke and now I have a copy of one, so I captured a lot of screenshots and posted them as Flick'r pics. I tell a story in those pics, and some other, more upbeat self-discoveries at Flick'r so you might want to go give those a scan. In summary, it turns out that I'm a lot more proud of my family than I thought I'd be.

I went to see my aunt last night to make good on the promise I made her before I went off to the comics convention and Ned. Eliel, perk up--SHE LIVES (and has lived since the 70's) TWO BLOCKS FROM CARLTON AVENUE. She owns a brownstone that is EXACTLY like your old one in architecture. And I do mean exact, as in the steps are on the same side of the house, etc.

Eliel, when I went to visit you those times, my aunt was withoin walking distance all along. And not only that, but in the 70's she was able to purchase a brownstone, and she's been raising two boys in it for 30 years. Now, as you know Eliel, the neighborhood has become one of those trendy gentrified Brooklyn nabes. And my aunt is sitting pretty. I had no idea. Not many other, if any, can say they are as successfully adult as this aunt of mine. And I'm SO glad to be able to have another connection to that neighborhood because I was starting to REALLY dig it before you moved out of there, Eliel. Still mad at you for that!

Anyway, visiting my aunt turned out to be the best case scenario. She welcomed me as though I'd never left. Just like her mother did when I lived in Harlem the first time (happy to say, I found the original post where I mention her mother, and her brother Marduke). And she's doing better than me, but I'm doing okay as well, which means I can visit her again and there will be no agendas between us. I won't be trying to sponge off her, she won't be trying to sponge off me.

The only wrinkle right now is that I haven't disclosed my last ten years to her. Last she knew, and I reconfirmed that her memories are true, that I went out to Missouri to become a preacher. So she wants to know what church I "go" to. I tell her the last church I attended, but not the fact that I haven't gone back in years and that I'm trying to first come to terms with being "Big Gay Al" before I find a new church to start visiting/attending.

But this woman has seen me growing up. She knows I have no girlfriend now, in my forties. She HAS to know that I'm not straight. And I want to have that talk with her. I want the love of family in my life again, as I am now.

And it seems like I'm going to have it.

If my aunt accepts me ... well ... a gift of God, is what that is. And even if I'm NOT straight, God might still be working in my life.

Which is really REALLY okay with me.

Where Are My Comic Books...?

Yeah, so yesterday my boss calls me about two hours after he'd been standing in my office and he says with a very very stern voice, "You want to tell me why you weren't at XXXX XXXXXX's psychiatry appointment?" There was a tinge of outrage with a hint of hysteria seasoning to taste, as well.

My response, "No no No no no!" because in the microuniverse's lifespan between his question and my answer, I realized that I had totally forgotten the appointment. Instead, I had Tweeted all day, fought sleep, didn't fight sleep, learned how to sleep (or at least snore) on my feet, went out to get lunch, and ate it all without a second's worth of realization that I had an appointment to go to.

I've since made amends (see my Twitter stream for details) and the Boss and me are buds again, but all today one alternative answer to his question has been buzzing around in my mind. "Because," I could have said, "I'm a gut-expanding middle-aged closeted homosexual who is working two jobs in order to live the life of one person, I'm off my meds, and I'm just really, really tired."

So a few minutes ago, coming in from said second job, I opened up my e-mail to discover that the second guy in our Friday-night D&D group has had a baby with his woman (in this case, wife). This is the guy who had gotten married a year or so ago. A guy who was hapy to get married and was looking forward to planning his future with the one he loves. Honestly. So yeah, in the time between, they made and gave birth to a baby.

And so I just thought I'd come and blog about it because I think one should somehow pay tribute to the death of ones dreams and hopes. It's respectful.

So RIP Alan's Heterosexuality. If you hadn't been so sickly in the first place, one of those dozens of babies made and born by your friends in your lifetime would have been yours.

Postscript; This post's title comes from the fact that after I lay my hands on them, I'll be alright.

Adventures In Gayville. Prologue.

The thing that is really going to cheese me off is the fact that this will wind up being not very unremarkable at all. That I'm not any more special than anyone else.

And yet.

This is me.

And not someone else. And it's kind of astonishing that I would be here. In this place.

So anyway, full of self-loathing and abandon, I was standing in the Haagen-Daas boutique store where the prices for their ice cream is even more expensive than their store pints. I had just ordered my Dulce de Dulce w/ Bananas and Caramel Dulce, and had given the shopkeep a piece of my mind in doing so. More than ANY meal from McDonalds it was going to cost me! He took it in good stride. He knew I was there to pay regardless of my outrage.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"5 miles from here--up Broadway." I answered, prouder than I'd been all week.

So while I stood there waiting for the poisonous concoction to brew, in walked a pair of fellers in mid conversation. "...wait until you taste it. It's crack, I tell you." Or something to that effect.

I did what one does when alone while waiting for your stuff when other people are yapping. I said and did nothing. The two chatted a little more and I did what one does when the conversation of strangers continues, and continues. I stole a look.

Well, the one chatting and chatting was pretty much what he sounded like. A crisp, late twenties white dude, very earthy and yet ivy league. Like maybe from a working class family who made good in the business world. He wore a dress shirt and slacks, and was very animnated. I could easily see him in a "How I Met Your Mother" set bar with his buddies, throwing darts after work, crying foul with a tenor's trumpet. And while I was taking his full stock from my half a second's worth of glance, I dimly register that he's talking to me as well.

"Sir. Sir, have you ever had a Bailey's shake?" with the sudden familiarity of a frat brother.

Well. What could I do but get a better look at him?

The boy was handsome. Fratman all the way. Flat belly, open collar, hints of chest hair poking out of darker tones like maybe there's some Italian in him or one of the more swarthy Irish. Clean shaven, straight perfect teeth in a big open smile.

Who were these guys? Lovers? The older one also trim. A little taller than the both of us. Visiting NYC, according to the content of the previous conversation before I got included. Salt and pepper hair. Darker still, like maybe Greek or East Asian. Dressed more casually than John Bailey's-Shake.

I smiled. The boy was smooth. He was a talker. He was not afraid of the black guy standing in the ice cream store with the Reed Richards sideburns. "No," I said. "Never did. But I'm going for that golden cup of sunshine, myself," and I pointed to the poster on the wall that had brought me in here. They had to admit that mine looked real good too. But Johnny insisted, the Bailey's was amazing. "Not sweet like regular Bailey's."

"Oh," I said, "Then it's not for me. Sweet is what I'm in here for." And yes, I was. Flirting, that is. Ol' Johnny wanted to play? 'Ight. Let's play.

"It's about a million calories," said Johnny to his companion and me, "But so worth it."

"And about a dime per calorie," said clever, flirtatious little me.

They laughed. Oh, yes, I can make them laugh. I'm a funny guy. "He's payin' for it!" said Johnny. "So that's on him...!"

Then the awkward silence descended as it does, while shakes and sundaes are being made. Then mine came out. I handed my ransom over for it. Then I took more opportunity to show it off. "See," I said to them, "This is what ya need."

"It does look good," said Johnny. And then he said the following, as easy as a breeze. "If you want to stick around you could get a taste of our Bailey's."

And there I was. Trumped. Oh, Johnny B gooooooood. He was very aware of his ability to seal the deal, was our little flat-bellied, handsome-ass Johnny with the big smile and the dark eyebrows.

And I thought, me? This guy wants me to stick around? Me? What about his buddy here, who's buying his Bailey's? What about my fat belly? What about the fact that I'm not ready to be gay yet?

Johnny saw my hesitation. My expression. And he said, with nary a moment passing after his offer--in fact he made it the closing of the same sentence, "But if you're on your way to something, that's cool."

And I nodded, not shy or repulsed or even afraid, but very aware and even flattered, and not ready. "Yeah, I'm on my way to something. But you guys enjoy your shakes."

And out I went thinking, "You betta work, Johnny, with your handsome self."

And as flattered as I felt, or as delusionally giddy (for Johnny may have just been a really open and frathouse kind of guy, as genuine and friendly as My Super Hero is, with a sexy-ass wife waiting in their 775K condo around the corner) I also felt again, for the first time, "I'm not ready."

My fat belly. My self-consciousness. My fear.

I'm not ready.

But damn, is it always going to be that easy?

Because if so--then wow.

I better buy some condoms.

GREs

The Graduate Record Examination. I've tackled this biatch a few times in my past, attempting to go back to school and begin a doctorate program. This time, I bought The Princeton Review "Cracking the GRE..." series for the general and the psychology subject tests.

Because MFTD, to whom I've accumulated a debt in excess of 6K over the years (you see, he is VERY good with his money) offered me a 6K scholarship. He said "I'll forget the debt if you go back to school for your doctorate."

And I said "Okay."

The subject came up because I was telling him that I was thinking about it AGAIN. Initially, I had called him to fill the space in my day with human contact of the non-therapeutic kind. The loneliness was getting to me. And so I told him I was considering the doctorate because the two jobs in this field are getting to be a bit much. I've now actively begun NOT scheduling clients one out of the 5 weekdays, for instance.

And then he dropped that offer on me. He's a good guy, MFTD.

A few weeks ago, I'd mailed a check to one of other two friends who I owed money to, and it has been cashed. So now I only owe one more person a personal debt. And then I've licked it! No more financial cloud for me. Five years in the making. (This does not include car & student loan, but they are regularly made payments.)

And then on to the PhD.

Yeah. Not bad, eh?

Dontchange

So, can I pick 'em or what? My Super Hero remains my friend. He said ZERO things have changed.

You know, it seems pretty clear that I'm on my way out of the closet. I seem to be taking it a step at a time, choosing with who and how to reveal. CoasterPunchman walked me through an exercize by e-mail a few months ago that had me face my exact fears about identifying myself as "A Gay American." I've tackled two of those fears on that list now, meanwhile testing waters here at my blog, taking my time, having my panic attacks, crying a little every day, mourning my heterosexuality in my own way, trying to adopt a new dream for my life, trying to still feel human and love-able and ... redeemable.

Well, a few minutes ago, I looked for a music video because I wanted to punctuate one of my messageboard posts with the theme of a song and after I found what I thought was perfect, I realized it had another meaning for another aspect of my life.

So, here you go--I knew I had to post it here--let the tears flow freely. God knows mine did.

Okay. Okay.

So yeah, my heart's in my throat. How does that happen? I LITERALLY feel my heart beating right at the level of my sternum, right below my Adam's Apple. Because I just sent The Letter to My Super Hero giving up The Last Reveal about me. You know, the whole sex thing? The whole "me" and "not being as straight as I wished I were" thing?

Yeah. And if my impressions of My Super Hero is accurate, this won't go as horribly, horribly horribly maddeningly horrific as it could be. He won't feel deceived and lied-to about me. He won't think all this has just been one big same-sex crush and an elaborate scheme to create a big jerk-off fantasy (which it never ever has. My Super Hero embodies the ideal for me--the me I want to be, removed from all corruption and molestations and illicit seedy porno sex). He's the innocence of reading comics at nine, dreaming about justice and fairness and how to be a hero and a man. He's married and all that, but that's not who he is for me. For me, he's the recapture of a childhood I'll never be able to have had. He's my escape when the world is too brutal again.

So why did I do this? Why did I tell him? Why didn't I just keep it out of all conversation, as I have been doing? Well, because we're friends, he and I. I mean we really get on really well. And sometime I have just not been there for him because of my struggles and my ups and my downs, and sometimes I feel like I've let him down so much and I just wanted him to know why. I thought that because of all he means to me and because of all he's done for my mind and my spirit, I felt he deserved to be let in. That he deserved to be trusted, I guess. Yeah, that's it. He deserves to be trusted with this.

Still, I'm just so scared that despite everything I've tried to be, and everything I've wished for and all the purest motives this bent frame could conceive of, that I'll be misunderstood and rejected. That my heart will be broken and that I'll no longer be AFOMA. And while he'll have the right to turn away from the secret-keeping little perv that I am, since it is HIS life and he gets to decide who HE wants in it, it would just crush me. It would be just so awful.

And I would survive. And I would find new supports, or call you guys up and cry on your shoulder until we both drowned, but .... I would recover.

Right?

Right?

Oh God. Please. Have mercy on me. I just hate all this. Why did this have to be me? Why couldn't I just be like anyone else?

July 11th!

Because, really, is it any different than the 5th?

So this has been a pretty hetero week for me. The female ta-ta, as a duo, are still some of the world's best looking sound. When pushed up, propped up, straining to float free, or in full jiggle--them thangs is fun to look at!!!

Then I introspect that if I were hetereo, the girls are all I'd look at when Johnny Jogger comes pounding by with no shirt on. So in this leg of the journey, I'm starting to realize that instead of clinging to my female attraction to define myself as hetereo, the truth is that the existence of my male attraction is as much if not moreso a defining trait too. Possibly it's a defining trait that cancels out the other? Maybe the breast attraction is just the residual of having been a baby and primitively desiring breasts because that's where survival was supposed to have come from. No breast-attraction, no life.

And I'm coming to realize stuff about my comicbook-loving geek nation now that I'm examining the depths and heights of my own homo-ness. Just because so many of my cyberfriends are married w/children, it doesn't mean they don't get the same kind of thrill that I do looking at a dude's physique.

After all, what FIRST attracted them to comicbooks? Definitely not the STORIES because that's not the first thing a young boy sees when he hovers toward the comicbook display. He sees colorful, spandex-clad muscles. In equally colorful speedos.






It's true.

And mostly on the comicbook page does a pair of bright red speedos look normalized and functional. A kid can look at Superman and not have any witnesses thinking "Why is that kid looking at male erotica?!?" But what if that's what it's been all along?

Well, to that I can add this; at Geek Central, my cyber buddies are the biggest same-sex flirters you'd ever want to meet! 90% of them are married and 85% of that bunch have kids. But they think nothing of telling a fellow dude poster that they're sexy, got a "purty mouth," etc.

Which brings me back to my idea of fluid sexuality. Which isn't just MY idea. You guys have agreed with me on this. And we know A LOT of homosexual folks have sexed and had children with hetereo-sex partners, before and after taking a homosexual identity. So my cyberbuddies who flirt with each other online (and over the podcasts) are most likely not 100% hetereo. And really, is ANYONE? But they might in fact be a lot less hetereo than the average dude, due to their (our) love for colorful, muscley, underwear-on-the-outside wearing heroes. And they still managed to snag a girl and make whoopie enough to produce babies.

I can't be mad at that. I only wish I could be one of them. With all my heart.

In other news, my Friday night D&D group has not been meeting for over a month now because the DM and his girlfriend (fellow player) has had a baby. She was looking pretty uncomfortable and all swole up for the last month before she popped and they live together so he's also doing the new dad thing instead of running off to us to run our game. So I'm a little bitter about that. All these otherwise hetereo geeks having dates and shtupping women and making babies, leaving me alone.

In similar news, the longterm geek squad (which includes Jester) wants to get together today, and I actually don't feel like it. I'm actually over my crush on Jester. In a major way. It seems he can't do any right anymore. All the strengths and compassion I thought he had seem well-hidden under his emotional aggression and resistance. All I imagine it will be when we get together is me fending off his negativity as we all conversate, joke, dine, watch movies, roleplay, or what have you.

And the biggest thing--I can't share my struggles with them. For being my friends for such a long time, they are the group I feel most the most uncomfortable "coming out" to. Which, again, my "coming out" isn't a major event any more to me. Giving this information out to my friends won't change what I do on a daily basis. I'm still petrified of The Deed and all it's permutations. I still want to be as hetereo as my other speedo-friendly, married, fathering geek buddies.

But what I want TODAY is to have fun with my friends, and I don't feel like that can happen anymore. So I don't really want to go meet up with them. I'd rather go to the gym, get my walk/jog on to Janet in Central Park, nap if I wanna, and produce more audio goodness!

We'll see how it goes.

Happy July!